


you make the world human

by coconutcluster



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (lots of rivals-to-lovers loceit and domestic prinxiety as you'll see), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Remus is only mentioned, this is a part of my uni au on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27500338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutcluster/pseuds/coconutcluster
Summary: One of Roman's first memories, the clearest of all, was the sound of Virgil’s laugh. Even at five years old, Roman remembered it making him smile in an instant; he knew, from then on, that laugh was a sign that his world was something brilliant and happy and good. He knew, when Virgil laughed, things would be okay.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Comments: 12
Kudos: 121





	you make the world human

**Author's Note:**

> hello, this is a little drabble for my uni au on tumblr - there is a lot of loceit and some more domestic prinxiety over there for it, so go check out #uni au at coconut-cluster if you want that <3333

One of Roman’s first memories was playing pretend at the playground down the street from his house. He remembered - quite clearly, in fact - climbing to the top of the monkey bars, balancing precariously on the edge as he stared down at Virgil and Remus, his cardboard sword raised above his head to emphasize whatever heroic speech he was delivering to them; he remembered the way Remus’ hair was wild from the helmet he’d had since the Halloween before, the way Virgil watched him with dark, shining eyes and fiddled with the strings of the cloak Roman’s mom had made him. Roman remembered finishing his speech and struggling to descend gracefully, resigning himself to fall clumsily to the mulch below, his paper crown knocked off his head by the impact. 

And he remembered, the clearest of all, the sound of Virgil’s laugh. Even at five years old, Roman remembered it making him smile in an instant; he knew, from then on, that laugh was a sign that his world was something brilliant and happy and _good_. He knew, when Virgil laughed, things would be okay. 

One of Roman’s best memories was his fifteenth birthday party. He and Remus had grown apart sometime during middle school, always at each other’s throats, and somewhere in between their rift, Virgil had drawn away from them, unwilling to take sides between his two best friends when they refused to see each other’s. Roman was a proud, self-righteous thing, but by the time his sanctimony peaked, he found, more than anything, he missed them. He’d never been great at apologies, but he was good at speaking from the heart he had so much of; he told them, in no few words, that he was sorry for “being a stupid prick” and that he really just wanted them to be a group again. 

And at his and Remus’ party a week later, it was clear that they were just that. Roman remembered a soaring feeling in his chest, something ineffably bright at the way Remus drew crude devil horns around his name on the cake with bright red icing, the way Virgil snickered at it like he was trying in vain to hold it in, the way the three of them nearly set the tablecloth on fire trying to light the candles, the way they broke into laughter at it all. Roman remembered something warm in his heart at the sound of Virgil’s laugh in his life again. Things were okay again.

One of Roman’s greatest memories would inevitably, _definitely_ be this one. 

The night before his move-in day to his university dorm was, unsurprisingly, full of stress (and a lot of tears from his mom). With Remus already gone - his dorm had required him to move in nearly a week before Roman’s - and the panic of making sure he had gathered everything he could possibly need until winter break, by the end of the day, Roman was drained beyond belief, and he just wanted to take his mind off it all. So of course, he called Virgil.

Their go-to pastime was movies and ungodly amounts of chocolate-covered popcorn, so that’s what they did after Virgil arrived from next door, his dark hair set aglow by the orange post-rain sky. Roman reveled in the ease of it all; he and Virgil had always meshed oddly well, curious puzzle pieces that, by all means and appearances, shouldn’t fit together as well as they did. Their conversations were easy, the jokes between them as natural as breathing. 

At some silly scene - Roman wasn’t even paying attention to what movie they were on, honestly - he heard Virgil snicker under his breath. He looked over (as if he hadn’t been sneaking peripheral glances the entire time) and smiled to himself as he studied Virgil’s face: the tiny, crooked smile on his lips; the way the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones and the hair peeking out from his beanie were alight with the TV glow; the tired, quiet shine in his eyes, somewhere between paying attention to the movie and falling asleep. Maybe it was the simplicity of it all, or maybe it was just the results of a week of stress culminating into one day of exhaustion in Roman’s worn out brain, but there was something absolutely breathtaking about Virgil in that moment that Roman never wanted to forget.

Virgil seemed to feel his gaze, glancing over a second later. “What’s wrong?” he asked, that crooked smile still lingering on his face. 

“Hm? Oh,” Roman raised his eyebrows and shook his head; he should look away, he thought, but his eyes stayed trained lazily on admiring Virgil. “Nothing.” 

“Then why are you _staring_ at me, doofus?” 

And his tone was so- so something, so fond and warm and easy and familiar, Roman felt instantaneously- _knew_ that he wanted to hear that voice for the rest of his life. 

Virgil’s smile dropped. “ _What_?” 

...and oh, God, he’d said that out loud. 

“Oh,” he said, the posterchild of having absolutely no functioning brain cells. A split second later, it hit him like a truck - he’d said that out loud, and Virgil was staring at him with wide eyes and disbelief and Roman’s heart felt like it cracked in two right then and there. 

“Oh, my god,” he said hoarsely, “I didn’t- I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to say that now- or ever! Ever, because I don’t- well, I do mean it, but I didn’t want to spring that on you in the middle of just- I really-”

“Roman-” 

“That was really stupid to say, I wasn’t even thinking. I’m really sorry, Virge- _Virgil_ \- I never want to put you on the spot-” 

“ _Roman_ -”

“You don’t have- we can just, like, pretend that didn’t happen, if you want- if you’d prefer-”

He bit his tongue - literally - when Virgil’s hand was on his shoulder, and he blinked back to attention to find Virgil facing him, eyes wide and filled with something earnest. 

“Roman,” he said carefully, deliberately, and Roman nodded on instinct. “Can I kiss you?” 

Roman’s mind went blank all over again.

“What?” he said numbly, and then the one brain cell bouncing around in his head managed to strike a tiny fire of basic comprehension skills, and in an instant, he grabbed the front of Virgil’s sweatshirt and pulled him into a kiss. 

He’d imagined kissing Virgil more than a few times over the past few years. In the months following his fifteenth birthday, when they’d rekindled their friendship and the stupidly easy energy between them was present again, he knew the way he wanted to admire Virgil or hear him talk about whatever or just be around him for hours on end was a little more than just wanting to be friends. He’d daydreamed that it might feel like fireworks, or electricity, or something equally bright and instantaneous. 

But now, with Virgil’s hands holding his face and his own pulling Virgil as close as they could be to each other, kissing him wasn’t electric - it was warm, and familiar, and breathtaking all at once; he’d expected fireworks and gotten a sunset, and it was everything he could ever hope for.

They pulled apart after a second. For a moment, they were both quiet - Roman stared into those dark eyes and knew he would never get bored of seeing them shine - and then, against the quiet hum of the movie still running on the TV and the rain starting again outside, Virgil laughed. 

“You,” he grinned, “are an oblivious idiot, you know that?” 

Roman’s smile melted to a pout he could barely hold. “That’s it? No _Wow, you’re such a good kisser, Roman_ , or _Whoa, you’re so handsome and nice and talented and I’m so glad I got to kiss you_ , or _W- wow-_ ” he snickered and choked the falsetto, dropping his head onto Virgil’s shoulder to hide his grin as Virgil broke into more laughter, genuine and brilliant and setting something incredible aflame in Roman’s racing heart. 

Virgil laughed, and Roman’s world was so much more than just okay.


End file.
